When Peter returned home with news that Mr. Stark had been called away and the weekend trip had been postponed, Aunt May could read the obvious disappointment. "Peter, why don't you just relax and I'll bake up a batch of cookies. Make the weekend a little bit special." He hummed in agreement and laid down on the couch, closing his eyes as the energy from the two hours of sleep he got the night before finally ran out.
He felt her knotted, papery hand slip through his hair, and her soft voice whispered, "Change of plans. Go send Morgan out here and close the door, go to sleep for a bit and then we'll have a nice dinner."
As tired as he was, his mind was still reeling. He laid in the top bunk (Morgan didn't like heights…Peter didn't mind), staring at the posters and pictures that he had tacked to the ceiling above him. There were a couple Avengers, a couple baseball players, and a polaroid of his mom and Dad.
He focused on his parents as his eyes fluttered shut, trying to fill his head with their voices instead of the lingering disappointment. They were scientists, and tinkerers, and they broke as many contraptions as they fixed. Peter had a pile of old tech, some of it dating back to his parents. His mom had just started teaching Peter to program on the family's old Macintosh computer before she passed away, and a few years ago he had gutted it to make a new PC that he shared with Morgan.
The keyboard he had found secondhand (well, the one he pilfered from his school's dumpster) had served its purpose for a year and a half, but recently the space bar had given up…followed by the demise of the left shift key, the "B", and the number 9. With the money, one of the first things he was going to buy was a new one. But now, as always before, he would just have to use his creativity.
What he was most frustrated about what not getting Morgan that new piano. The best he could do was maybe find an old electric keyboard at a secondhand store. In a second, his eyes flew open.
"MORGAN," he called out loudly, literally jumping off the top bunk.
She heard the thump and opened the door warily, "I thought you were sleeping."
"I had an idea," he said while typing quickly at their shared desk.
"Yeah, I know dude, this is usually what 'Peter with an idea' looks like". She leaned against the doorjamb, watching Peter's fingers fly. "So, just what is this idea?"
"It's a keyboard. A keyboard-keyboard. A piano keyboard!"
"Explain." She walked over and leaned over his shoulder, looking at the code he was typing. She wasn't as adept at coding as Peter was, but he had tried to teach her the basics, just like his mom had taught him. She was squinting at the code, but Peter was typing faster than she could read. "You missed a parenthesis."
His fingers screeched to a halt, "Wait, where?"
"I was just kidding." She grinned impishly. "Looks fun, let me know when you're done."
Peter rolled his eyes at his sister but eagerly returned to the code. He felt himself get lost in the program, a sense accomplishment flowing through him. Two hours later, May poked her head in to check on him, and Peter took a break for a cookie as he explained his plans to May and his sister over the kitchen counter. "So, it's a computer keyboard, right? But instead of typing a letter, I can make the key play a sound. So Morgan will be able to play literal songs on the keyboard! Mo, I know you were looking at that software for composing, so…May, turn off your hearing aid…" May gave a small laugh and made a show of turning off the device. "So, Mo, I may or may not have pirated the software, and so now whatever you play on the keyboard will show up in the software." Peter waved for May to turn her hearing aid back on, and she smiled gently.
"That's…cool. If it works."
"You doubt my genius?"
"I doubt your genius," Morgan deadpanned.
"Well, I do need your expertise. I want to calculate the reverb and the whatever so that it can mimic a couple of instruments. Piano first, obviously, but then I was thinking like, guitar?" Peter had finally caught the girl's interest, and she followed him back into the bedroom, the two of them shooting ideas back and forth. For the rest of the afternoon, May had to turn her hearing aid down and hope the neighbors were forgiving as a digital piano was tuned and tested in the kids' bedroom.
After an afternoon nap, she turned the hearing aid back on for her afternoon soap opera, and heard a more pleasant melody coming from the room. Peeking her head in again, she saw Morgan at the keys, trying out chords and melody, while Peter was passed out on her bunk. Morgan paused and turned to look at him. "I think he just fell asleep but I wanted to keep going."
May came into the room and smoothed the girl's hair as she looked at the musical scores on the screen in front of her. "Your brain is something else, Morgan. Whatever you are working on, it sounds lovely."
Morgan's eyes were glued to the screen as she tracked the music she was creating. "This one is slow…I think it could actually be considered a lullaby, since it put him out like a light."
"Keep that one in your back pocket, then. You know he has trouble sleeping sometimes." The apartment's thin walls did little to quiet the squeaking floorboards when one of the kids got out of bed. May knew Morgan slept like a log, but Peter was always a difficult sleeper, ever since he was a kid. So every time May was awoken early in the morning, she knew Peter was out of bed and moving around. Occasionally she would get out of bed and check on him, finding him taking a shower at 3 in the morning or reading a book on the couch. The sight of Peter splayed out, fully asleep, could always being a smile to May's face.
A couple hours later, Morgan was still on the keyboard-keyboard, and Peter wandered into the kitchen, following his nose to Aunt May's cooking. She had paused and was rubbing her lower back, and Peter was immediately concerned. "Aunt May, are you okay?"
"I'm fine, Peter, just a bit stiff. In fact, would you mind grabbing the casserole from the oven? It's a bit heavy for me." She leaned against the counter, handing the over mitts over as Peter rushed to help.
"Are you sure? Why don't you sit down, I'll set the table and get Morgan for dinner." Peter set the casserole on the table and clattered the table settings down. He called Morgan from their bedroom, and then grabbed May's heating pad that he had borrowed after a rough patrol. He plugged it in for her and gently nestled it between her back and the chair. "May, did you want milk with dinner?"
"Yes please, Peter. You take such good care of me." Peter smiled gently, taking a moment to press a kiss to her temple.
"Just returning the favor," he murmured. Aunt May and Uncle Ben had given him and Morgan so much; the kids both knew that their lives could have been very different. May and Ben were loving, supportive, and kind. They somehow found the energy to keep up with their great-niece and -nephew as they ran around to after school activities and play dates. But after Ben had passed away after trying to stop a mugging two years before, Aunt May had started showing her age. She had been sick last year, and still had episodes of light-headedness, so now Peter didn't let her leave the house without him or Morgan.
More recently, Peter had noticed May moving gingerly. His sharp eyes caught every flinch or strained movement as she bustled around the apartment, but this was the first time she had openly admitted to being sore. "Do you want any Tylenol? For your back?"
"Oh Peter, all I want is for you to sit down and tell me how delicious this casserole is."
He eagerly followed her instructions. The casserole was hot and cheesy, just like Peter liked it, and it warmed him from the inside out.
Later that night, hours after he had harangued Morgan into doing the dishes and falling asleep early, Peter was perched on the roof of his apartment, stomach still satisfyingly full. He could swear that May made super-powered casserole, otherwise he wasn't sure how it could keep him full despite his enhancements. He tried not to think about Mr. Stark, or his disgustingly huge bank account, or his tendency to bribe people (teenagers) into doing what he wanted them to do, then stealing that offer away.
For a Saturday night, there was not a ton of action. Peter had walked a grad student home from her late-night job when he noticed some suspicious men shadowing her, and now that she was home safe, he was keeping an eye on them from the sky. They were in an alleyway now, and Peter didn't need any advanced senses to smell that they were smoking weed, but that wasn't a crime he really cared about preventing.
The alleyway was lit by an old lamp above a half staircase. Peter had moved a bit closer, and in the light he could see that the group was probably not worthy of his suspicion—it was a group of teenagers, only slightly older than himself. But for some reason, his spider sense was still tingling. Further up the cross street, he saw two older men walking up the street. As they approached the alley, they paused, looking down at the group of boys. But the men continued walking, and the boys, unaware, continued smoking. His spider sense quieted, and he did too, sitting on the roof edge and dangling his feet.
Quiet nights on rooftops were as much a part of patrolling as the nights when he came home feeling like he went a few rounds with Mike Tyson. To be honest, sometimes he preferred the peaceful nights, he could go home early and focus on his homework, or his family, without feeling guilt about leaving the streets. But tonight, as soon as the thought of retiring flashed across Peter's mind, his spider sense alerted him again and he was off swinging through the night.